Captives
by GothicCheshire
Summary: McCoy knew that the Away Missions never went well, but he never expected them to go THIS bad. Complete...
1. Captivity

_This is not the way it's supposed to end…_ McCoy clutched Spock tighter to his chest, trying to use his own body heat to warm the violently shivering Vulcan in the freezing cold that had become their environment for the however many days or weeks it had been that they were trapped there. Spock was bleeding from the mouth and nose, and Bones had noticed a small trickle that seemed to be coming out of one of his pointed ears. Green blood shined in the stark white light beating down on them.

McCoy wasn't sure what those bastards had done to him exactly, it had been something mental, where they tried to break past his shields and caused Spock to strain against them until he couldn't take it, or something. But he did know with absolute certainty, that he didn't like that vacant look in those eyes. He didn't like that it was because of _him_.

"Spock, Spock, come on…" He didn't shake him; he didn't know if there were physical consequences, and he didn't want to risk it. "Please, come on, talk to me…"

He kept up a constant stream of chatter, peppered with worried curses, desperately trying to gain a response. He knew that his own body heat wasn't enough, but he didn't have anything else; they were prisoners. Actually, and here's where it began to piss McCoy off, they weren't even really prisoners, they were more like lab rats.

It had started out simply enough. An away mission to the surface of a planet that had native flora that could be used to cure a wider range of diseases than had been hoped for. The ship that had discovered it had been unaware of their find until it was too late, and had left without collecting more. They were also not equipped for greater testing, and while they knew that it was helpful for a wide range of diseases, Starfleet wanted the details.

Spock and McCoy had been beamed down to assess the situation, see if it was worth claiming, and obtain a few samples for testing. Due to the fact that the planet was also pronounced uninhabited, Jim had let them both go down alone, as it was a very simple mission. It basically amounted to go down, get the plants, return to the ship.

Which was, of course, when things went horribly wrong. Spock and McCoy had been leaning over one of the native flora, McCoy reflecting quietly that if its medical properties had anything to do with the smell -which was absolutely heavenly, and had a rather invigorating quality- then he wasn't surprised it was considered to be so helpful. Spock had replied with something that McCoy remembered being rather ticked about, and then everything went black.

They had come to in a wide bright room, the same bright light that stung McCoy's eyes after so long and caused a migraine to pulse behind his temple shining down on them. But back then they hadn't known that they couldn't walk in a larger area than twelve feet by twelve. Then they had attempted to take a better look around, and McCoy had made the mistake first, a shock running through him as soon as he took a step outside of that invisible box. Spock had pulled him back, not being jolted at all, and that was when McCoy noticed the scar on the inside of his elbow.

They had basically been equipped with shock collars.

That's when the…things had come in. They were all as white as the room Spock and McCoy were trapped in. Their hair was long and straight and hung past their waists, their clothing one of the only shocks of color on them, in silvers and royal purples. But their eyes were the things that McCoy remembered with the most terror, those large purple and blue orbs that seemed to crackle with electricity. There was no way to tell what gender they were, no differences in appearance, but they soon came to recognize their own personal guard, if only for the color of its robes. A heavy material that was golden in color.

Spock had straightened slightly on that first meeting and asked them something, McCoy couldn't even really remember what it was; he had been too busy staring at those large eyes. Then one of them had the grace to stare back, and Leonard had been pulled into the mind of a monster. When he had come to, Spock was holding him tight to him, and that was his first indication that something had been dreadfully wrong. He didn't want anyone in his mind, true, but the way Spock was reacting made him think that something else had happened. When McCoy tried to ask him what had happened, he noticed how much his throat hurt. That was when he realized that he probably had been screaming.

Spock let go of him once he realized that McCoy had understood what was wrong, and was on the path to being able to breathe properly, and then began trying to talk to their captors. Once again, McCoy wasn't able to remember what Spock was saying, he had been too shocked at the fact that he had been touching him, and then reeling with the realization that his mind had been violated. But then he was distracted from his thoughts by the noises they were making.

He still wasn't able to properly describe it, but those mouths when they opened them were black, the tongues thick and wiggling like worms. But despite the disgusting quality to it, the noises that left their mouths were eerily beautiful.

They couldn't understand what they were saying.

Spock tried again, only to be ignored, and then they had been left alone, and the lights promptly went out. That first 'night' several things had been made clear. It was cold, horribly, unbearably cold. There was no hint of light, and the echoing quality to the room made even the slightest movement louder than it should be. They attempted to find a way to remove the chip, only to find that it would shock them if they so much as touched the area it was in.

The conversation that had taken place after that was something McCoy looked back to with painful regret, especially now with Spock pressed close to his chest, bleeding and vacant.

McCoy had snarled something; he couldn't remember the exact phrasing, something about, "Of all the people to get stuck with, I get stuck with the pointy-eared bastard."

Spock had not replied, and McCoy couldn't see him. It didn't help him much when he could, only Jim seemed to have enough of a connection to see when he was actually thinking, but it did help. That had made McCoy mad enough that he snapped. He had already been on edge, but the silent treatment had never been something he could stand _(he blamed it on his ex-wife)_. "What? You don't like me enough to try and give me the silent treatment? You wish you were stuck with someone else, too? Huh? Do you hate me that much, you bastard?"

Spock had replied then, a calm, clinical, "I do not hate you, doctor."

"Yeah, right, 'hate is an emotion' and all that other shit. We both know it's a load of crap."

Spock had not answered, and McCoy had curled up as far away as possible from the sound of Spock's gentle breathing, shivering in the cold, but unwilling to go near him. He didn't want to admit it, but he regretted the words.

The next day was when they realized exactly what kind of place they were in. Their 'jailer' was the one in gold robes, really more like their 'tester'. McCoy was taken first, and the pain had been unbearable. He didn't know what Spock had done when he was left alone, but the first thing he saw as he locked eyes with the Vulcan was a flicker of concern and relief to find him whole. Then it was gone, and then Spock was taken.

McCoy knew what he did when Spock was gone, he paced, never holding still, ignoring the aching pain in his limbs, trying to ignore the pain in his _mind_… He was scared, and he hated it.

When Spock came back he was firm, he walked on his own, and McCoy wanted to spit at him. He made him feel weak, he made him feel worthless, and it made his unnecessary worrying feel useless. He was angry at him then. But still he said nothing.

They were fed something like bread and water, both of which were useless against the hunger that gnawed Leonard's insides. But if Spock was hungry he never showed it.

McCoy began baiting him quietly. Spock never replied, and Bones hadn't known what to think about that fact. They would be taken at regular intervals, and no matter how much McCoy wished otherwise, whenever Spock was gone he always remained pacing.

He was terrified.

And always, when McCoy was taken back from their testing of him, Spock was looking at him with eyes that held nothing but scrutiny, and it hurt. He felt like he was being judged and found lacking.

They had continued in this manner, McCoy getting steadily weaker and more pained, until the gathering of them had came, walked directly up to Spock, and made eye contact.

The Vulcan had gone rigid, eyes widening slightly under the brunt of what McCoy knew to be a vicious and violent assault. But still he held his ground, and McCoy had finally, desperately, tried to break him out of whatever trance he was in; only to be pushed out of the way by Spock in what he now knew to be an effort to protect him. That was when green blood began to trickle out of his nose, and McCoy began shouting at them, pleading with them.

It was only when Spock finally crumbled to the ground that they stopped, and slowly trickled out one by one, leaving him curled up on the floor and bleeding.

That was when Spock had begun to tremble, and McCoy could suddenly see how much damage had actually been done to the Vulcan. The remains of the black undershirt (the blue had been taken away ages ago) managed to hide large bruises, and McCoy had finally realized that Spock had been getting the worst of it all. Yet he was telepathic, and he knew for a fact that most telepaths treated the others they found, be they touch-or otherwise, with greater respect that those that had no ability.

So this was insane, why would they be treating him like that? What on earth could possibly be gained from it?

Then it hit him.

Spock had never stopped looking at him with those eyes, but the intent had never been what McCoy had thought it was. Spock had done something, made some sort of deal. He was making sure that his terms were being fulfilled.

So here Leonard H. McCoy was now, clutching a shivering Vulcan to his chest and desperately trying to make him open his eyes and talk to him, to apologize, to thank him, to do SOMETHING. But he was not responding.

Leonard was afraid that there was irreparable damage, and he didn't know what to _do_. Finally, McCoy just took time to breathe.

"Come on Spock, you can't blank out on me… You can't," he finally whispered quietly.

There was no reply, and McCoy just bowed his head. He wasn't sure how, but he eventually fell into an empty sleep devoid of dreams, exhaustion and emotional turmoil finally getting to him.

McCoy woke up at the sudden stiffening of the body in his arms. He blinked; looking around, unsurprised, but highly disgusted to see that the light had turned off, and then slowly let go of Spock, whispering his name quietly.

"Doctor…"

McCoy nearly burst into tears. "Dammit, Spock, dammit…"

"Doctor McCoy, I see no reason to damn it and for that matter, nothing to damn…"

In that moment Leonard realized how much he had missed that sort of response and laughed. "Spock, I'm going to ask you some questions, please…for my own peace of mind, let me…"

"Very well."

"What's your name?"

"Doctor…"

"Answer the question dammit; this is the best method I have for determining brain damage, and I want to make certain that you aren't suffering from any."

"Doctor, when I am clearly responding…"

"Spock…" It wasn't even much of a threat, but a moment later, Spock responded.

"Very well… S'chn T'gai Spock…"

"…I'm not even gonna ask what you said before 'Spock', now, age?"

The questions continued, long into what passed for the night, McCoy happier than he could stand that Spock was apparently not suffering from any long term effects. There would be time for plans of escape and greater apologies later. So long as they weren't killed in their sleep, as McCoy was almost certain would wind up happening.

"Highly illogical, doctor…"

"Spock, while I am admittedly happy you're alive and are not suffering from brain damage, I must kindly ask you to please, just shut up…"

"Very well, doctor."


	2. Sucks

_Okay, an explanation for why this took so long before anything else: My muse blew up. I'm not kidding, what was likely a four chapter story blew up into something much bigger, and much broader and I really really hate it right now, but I'm going to see it through the end. I really need to stop. Okay, I do hope you enjoy even with the wait involved. I'm really sorry, but now that I've battled it into a way I can hopefully expand, we're all good. Updates shouldn't be as sporadic now. Hopefully._  
...

The next 'morning' brought more bright lights and cold, but there was no sign of their tester. Spock was still shivering; McCoy glared at everything, bristling and gnashing his teeth, pacing the radius of the area he was able. The closest analogy Spock could find was a mother wolf protecting her cubs. Or cub, he supposed. He wasn't all that sure he appreciated it, but he had to admit in a very guarded and private corner of his mind that it was amusing.

"Well…where the hell is it? It usually pops up around this time, so where the hell is it?"

"I do not know; however, I believe you should remain calm."

"Ohhhh, great advice; 'remain calm', he says, ignore the fact that we're being tortured and being treated like lab rats and 'remain calm'. I must say, Spock, you totally live up to the 'genius' status you have gained over the years."

"Thank you, Doctor."

McCoy paused, blinking, staring at him with an expression of complete and total mystification, and finally threw his head back and laughed. "I can't believe I missed how funny that is."

"Doctor…I am unsure that I comprehend your meaning…"

McCoy laughed again, sighing. "Oh, it doesn't matter. I think I'm just going senile… Finding the hobgoblin funny… Yep, Leonard McCoy, you have gone off the deep end."

"Doctor?"

"I'm sorry. I'm alright. This just really… I mean… Ah hell. Jim's gonna be off somewhere back on the _Enterprise_ just… Shit."

"McCoy, calm yourself. You are tense and you are rambling; sit down."

"I don't see why it's any-"

"Sit," Spock stated, meeting his eyes directly; McCoy was so shocked that he sat down automatically. "Now, breathe; no, cease speaking." McCoy shut his mouth. "I wish you to take a deep breath and let it out through your nose." McCoy opened his mouth again. "If you wish you may take a breath like that, but you must calm. Now, close your eyes."

"This is stupid," McCoy grumbled, some inner part of him grinning like a maniac; he knew exactly what the hobgoblin was attempting to get him to do. He had to admit that he found it amusing as hell, but the goblin was staring at him with such conviction in his eyes that he couldn't help but concede. He was aware that Spock was trying to help him in the only way that he could think of, and for once he decided to help him along and not smash it to pieces as well as that crumbling resolve that he spotted in those eyes. That in mind he closed his eyes, and waited for further instructions.

"Calm your thoughts, or possibly a better method would be to concentrate on one thing. Light, darkness…"

"Just so long as I don't think about water."

Spock blinked, and then seemed to comprehend, his nose wrinkling almost unnoticeably. "That might be wise." McCoy couldn't help but smile at that. "Now, choose what you wish to focus on, only attempt to choose something that is conducive to a reflective and relaxed state. Otherwise the purpose will not be met."

"I've got it."

"Very well; now, focus on that object or element, ignoring any outside presence. You should enjoy meditation; you seem to do this often."

"Hey, you hobgoblin, I thought the point was to calm me down, not rile me up," McCoy snapped, but it lacked the venom. He didn't tell Spock that he was really running through various injuries he could cause their captors, but it was having the same effect as what pointy-ears seemed to want him to do, so he continued.

"Apologies; I find it easy to do so."

McCoy's mouth twitched again. "With personalities as mismatched as ours it's really no surprise."

"Indeed."

He quietly led him through various mental exercises, none of which McCoy spent much time listening to. But it seemed to calm Spock, so he let him talk.

They were interrupted by the inevitable return of their tester. He walked forward in the same stately manner as usual, and they hesitated, Spock's eyes flickering open, the both of them tensing. McCoy noted the reaction in a small corner of his brain; were they already being tamed by fear?

Spock straightened and McCoy placed his hand on the warm shoulder firmly, pressing down as both a warning and a reprimand. He was not interested in being the reason the Vulcan died, and with the way he was going, he was heading in that direction. Spock looked up at him, meeting those eyes with a flicker of apprehension appearing, McCoy ignoring him to walk over and glare at their tester.

"Well, you finally got here; it's about bloody time…"

"We beg your apologies. Certain things needed to be discussed." McCoy jerked, eyes widening as he focused on the being in front of him. Spock straightened, focusing on the being that stood there. "We have much to do today; if you would come with me?" The voice that came from that black mouth was pure, crisp, and it led to the two captives tensing, questions weighing heavily on their tongues. But they found themselves nearly unable to ask them. The being turned around to look at them. "Come."

"Wait, wait just a minute, I'm not sure you've noticed, but you're speakin' our language, and you're actually tryin' to ask us to come and allow ourselves to be tortured. You can't be serious; how the hell are you talkin'; why do you expect us to follow you; what is going on?"

"We entered the mind of your friend and took the information from him. I apologize if we caused unnecessary damage, but it was necessary to learn your language and be able to communicate."

"Well, communicate already; what's going on; why are you doing this; why won't you let us go?"

"We cannot." It was just a simple two-word answer, yet it made McCoy's mouth click shut automatically. "You will come with me, with or without your cooperation, but to make this easier for both of us, I request that you follow."

"But…"

"Please. Let us not make this more difficult than it already is. I request your cooperation."

"So we can get tortured? No thanks."

Spock had been silent the entire time, eyes flickering between the both of them as they talked. "Who are you?" he finally asked, causing both to cease their argument and turn to face him. "Our records show that there is no life on this planet, yet you exist; why would you make contact with us?"

The being blinked at him, a clear film sliding over those large eyes before retreating back into its head. "I am known as Me'rith by my people, and we made contact with others before you."

They blinked. "The ship. You made contact with that ship that sent us here."

"We did. They served their purpose, but we could no longer use them."

"What did you do?"

"Nothing that cannot be undone; they will be fine."

"What about us, will we be fine?"

Its head cocked again. "Yes. You should be."

"What purpose does this serve?"

"The safety of our people, our lives, our freedom, our health."

"What?"

"Come."

They looked at each other, staring at Me'rith as he returned their gazes. "Do not make this more difficult than it has to be. We will have what we want from you. Your cooperation will decrease the amount of pain that will come with it."

"So there will be pain."

"Without pain one ceases to know they exist."

Spock slowly, gingerly stood up, and McCoy locked eyes with him, eyes narrowing in warning. "Don't you even think about it." Spock hesitated, eyes flicking over to McCoy; Me'rith cocking his head slightly, oddly birdlike in its movements.

"I do not understand; is there something wrong with the Vulcan?"

"You bet your ass there is. He's from a desert planet and you're keepin' us in cold, you've been prickin' and proddin' him more than anyone else, and he's had his mind invaded."

"All of which was necessary. As for the cold…I am sorry, but we cannot change the temperature. We will give you warmer clothing, however, and other things to keep you warm, but we have no more time." It reached out and clasped McCoy's arm, one of the first time physical contact had been given, and he found out why a second later. He had been fully conscious, but at the hand grasping his arm everything faded to black at a prodding.

When he came to he was back with Spock, the half-Vulcan was sitting as close to him as his Vulcan sensibilities would allow. He had a blanket wrapped around him, and Spock seemed relieved as his eyes opened finally. It was then that he noticed the large green and yellow bruise that was on the right side of Spock's face. "What did you do, you hobgoblin?"

Spock's eyebrow twitched, and he favored him with a glance that was equal parts amused and chastising. McCoy was almost shocked to spot it, but he remained glaring at him. "When it grabbed you and you began to fall, I moved to pull you back, but I was unable to. Mainly because it hit me; the effects of that blow are as you see."

"Damn, come here."

Spock hesitated before leaning closer, McCoy pausing to cover his hands with the blanket before reaching up and positioning Spock's head so he could see the large bruise more clearly. He hissed through his teeth and counted it rather lucky that he hadn't had his eye damaged. It went from just under his eyebrow to his upper lip, and nearly missed his nose. "He hit you good…"

"'He', Doctor?"

"I'm getting tired of calling him 'it'; besides, I think it sounds like a he." McCoy waved it off, and Spock inclined his head as much as he was able with McCoy's hands still holding his head in place.

"Very well."

Bones finally sighed. "I can't do anything with that without any tools. Does it hurt?" He prodded at it lightly, and jerked his hand back automatically when Spock let out a hiss. "I'll take that as a yes… Dammit. I'm sorry…" McCoy let go of him, and Spock backed away.

"It is of little consequence."

"Hmph, it's because of my bullheaded idiocy that you got hit like that."

"On the contrary, had I not attempted to stop him from taking you…"

"Spock…once again, stop talking."

Spock blinked at the sudden command and finally sighed through his nose. "Doctor, we must find some other compromise aside from simply having me cease talking."

McCoy glared. "But I like that one."

Spock looked up at the ceiling and back down, and McCoy blinked before laughing. "You just rolled your eyes, didn't you?"

"Doctor, as my eyes did not follow a circular motion, I did not 'roll' them. I merely looked at the ceiling."

McCoy laughed and grinned at him. "You know, you're not that bad… For a hobgoblin, that is…"

"I am pleased to know that I have your approval."

"You better be, but don't think that means that I accept your purely logical attitude. It's not healthy."

"I find reason to disagree with that statement."

"You always find a reason."

Their banter continued as long as they were able, ignoring the lights that turned off at the same time, and continuing their conversation, pulling the blankets they had been given tighter to them. McCoy had to admit that while the location was not ideal, there was something enjoyable about merely sitting back and trying to one-up the other. Although in his mind he won every time. He knew Spock disagreed.

All the more reason to keep arguing.


	3. ,

Spock was still cold. He tried to hide it, but McCoy could hear the slight trembling, due to the rather crinkling sounds from the blanket. He could also hear his teeth chattering. McCoy sighed, this was ridiculous. They knew that their captors weren't going to change the temperature, and they also knew that due to the blankets being constantly in a temperature a little above freezing (or so it felt like) they were almost as cold as the environment they were in, minus that small patch that they were directly in contact with.

It was therefore extremely uncomfortable, and McCoy was getting very worried about the Vulcan. He was still shivering though, which was definitely a good sign, but McCoy didn't know how long that would last. He was starting to go numb himself, and he had no idea exactly how bad it was for the Vulcan, but he would bet that he was probably even worse off.

McCoy sighed, thinking of the recent developments, and the realization that their captors were now speaking their language. He was confused by all of it. On one hand they gave them blankets and did seek to make them comfortable, but on the other they continued to treat them like lab rats, even though they knew they were both sentient and held important positions on a Star Ship. A Star Ship that was likely even now searching for them.

Leonard's mind filled with daydreams of that moment when they would be found and taken back. A decent dinner, free time to himself, his alcohol stash (that would likely have to be shared with Jim, the bastard), and best of all, no hobgoblin around…yet… He paused, blinking slightly at finding that the normal thought he had towards the hobgoblin made him hesitate. They had had several decent conversations. Granted, most of them had been arguments, but there was no longer a deep feeling of hostility towards him. In fact…

McCoy paused, hesitating, listening closely for something. For a while he wasn't even sure what he was listening for. Just…something seemed off to him. He strained his ears, eyes closing in concentration, but, due to the fact that there wasn't any light anyway, it didn't make much if any difference. Nothing. There was absolutely nothing.

That's when it hit him. Spock's teeth were no longer chattering.

McCoy's mouth set and he gave a quick, barked, "Spock?"

"Doctor…"

Leonard paused, hesitating, eyes doing their best to pierce through the darkness and find the Vulcan. There was a tired slur to his voice, which McCoy might have placed under the half-Vulcan not sleeping, but he had been, more often than usual. After a moment's hesitation he huffed out a sigh, and began crawling forward, his own blankets dragged with him.

"Doctor?"

"Shut up, Spock."

"I had assumed…" _Yep, he's really stopped shivering, and there's that slur…dammit._

"No. Don't talk. If you don't talk I don't have to think about who I'm actually doing this to."

"I fail to…" At that moment Spock's voice trailed off due to the sudden appearance of McCoy directly next to him. McCoy could practically hear the Vulcan's mouth open before he pulled his own blankets up, wrapped them around his back, and then proceeded to lean forward, pressing himself onto what felt like the Vulcan's side and wrapped his arms around him in one of the most awkward hugs in the history of the universe. He felt Spock jolt, and glared ineffectively at nothing.

Now that he was actually in physical contact with the Vulcan he could feel just how cold he was. It was almost like hugging a popsicle. This, of course, made McCoy extremely angry with himself. If he had sucked it up and done this earlier… Spock squirmed slightly, and McCoy gripped him tighter, "Don't you dare. This is awkward enough without you tryin' to squirm away, but there is no way I'm gonna let you do that. Why the hell didn't you say you were this frozen?"

"It…did not seem relevant."

McCoy groaned, "Damn you, goblin. When we get back I'm gonna drive you nuts with hammerin' 'I am relevant, I do not need to kill myself at the drop of a hat because of some sick masochistic tendency,' into your thick Vulcan skull, you get me?"

"I do…"

"Good, now quit squirmin' and do your best to ignore who exactly it is that's huggin' you."

"That would be much easier to do if you were not talking."

McCoy laughed, and fell silent.  
…

When the lights came on the next 'morning' there was a moment when McCoy was completely confused. He was warmer than he had been for what felt like days and he seemed to be wrapped around something that was even warmer than he was. A moment later his mind clicked on, and he jerked himself violently away from the half-Vulcan that he had been using as a makeshift pillow.

This of course caused Spock to wake, and he automatically locked eyes with McCoy, his mind snapping into what had happened quicker than Leonard's.

"Don't! Don't say a word. I know you're thinkin' it, but don't you dare!"

"Doctor…"

"No!"

"Doctor…"

"Absolutely, under no circumstances, are we going to talk about that. Ever. It didn't happen."

"I do not know why you continue to deny it when it is likely that it will wind up happening again tonight…"

McCoy hesitated, and then let out a groan, falling backwards onto the heap of blankets. "Damn your Vulcan heritage."

"My apologies, Doctor."

"You better be sorry…" Then a horrible thought struck, and he turned to look at Spock, eyes wide. "None of this ever gets back to Jim. You hear me? We say nothin' about this, ever, under pain of death. Not only is it likely to worry someone who is most likely goin' to have a cow about it…he's never gonna let us live it down. So not a word, do you hear me, goblin, _not a word_…"

"Agreed."

"Good. So, where's…"

"I believe the customary greeting is 'good morning?'" That pure crisp voice, again and the two straightened, turning to look at him, carefully avoiding eye contact.

"That would be correct," Spock replied, still not meeting Me'rith's eyes.

"Were the blankets suitable protection against the cold?"

"No. It was still freezing."

"Our apologies, we have no means to change the temperature. Various scientific advances have been lost with the emergence of the virus, and the subsequent destruction."

"Virus?" McCoy asked, moving forward.

A moment later he realized it was a mistake as his arm was grasped and he was taken. When he was returned Spock was bundled back in the blankets, up to his chin, and McCoy couldn't help but give a weak snicker. "Cold?"

"Indeed."

"Scoot over a bit, I'm sharin' some of that…"

"Have you made the logical decision that remaining warm is more important than your human male ego?"

"Somethin' like that, and, once again, not a word."

"I believe the saying is 'my lips are sealed'."

"They better be."

"Indeed."  
…

Jim was leaning against the observation deck window. He didn't know how many times he had been there. He did know that each time he did he felt even more helpless. The reason for that was the planet they were currently orbiting.

It was nothing overly special, and that was part of the problem. If it was so ordinary, so generic, why were they having such a hard time finding Spock and McCoy?

It was a question that was driving Kirk mad, thus his near constant haunting of the Observation Deck whenever he had a free shift, whenever he wasn't on the planet looking for them himself. It was agonizing, it was ridiculous, and it was the way it was.

But he wasn't going to accept it. He couldn't. They didn't deserve this, they didn't need this. He wasn't going to let it happen. Whatever had happened to them, wherever they were, he was going to find them. He had to. They couldn't…

A moment later the observation deck doors opened, and he turned slightly, meeting eyes with an obviously surprised and tired Nyota Uhura. At one point, the tension between them had been palpable, but after days and weeks and months of getting to know each other, and Nyota slowly realizing that he wasn't just a sleazy bastard, it had dissipated, and a tentative friendship had been struck up.

"Lieutenant," Kirk's voice was quiet, the sound barely enough to stir the silence.

"Captain…" her voice was hushed, eyes focused on the planet over Jim's shoulder, not on him.

"It is a rather gorgeous view."

That made Uhura jolt, and she gave him a half smile, locking eyes with him finally. "Apologies, I didn't know the deck was occupied when I came in here."

"Doesn't matter, pick a railing, come on up here." Jim allowed his mask to slip into place with the seamless ease of someone who wore it constantly. Nyota didn't even blink at the shift, unaware it was even there to begin with, instead walking up to him, leaning against the railing to his right.

"It is a gorgeous planet."

"Doesn't matter. So long as they're stuck down there we aren't leaving, the view actually gets old the eightieth time you see it, I was honestly being sarcastic."

"You counted?"

Jim hesitated, gazing at the stars, the storm brewing over one of the oceans, anything to avoid looking at Uhura. This time she noticed.

"How often have you been down here?"

"Often enough."

Uhura looked at him closer, and her eyes traced the purple rings that were under his, the tired pallor his face was drawn into. "Have you been sleeping?"

"…No."

"Well, I'll give you points for honesty. Why haven't you been down to sickbay to…" The sight of his flinch gave her all the answer she needed. "Should I go down and get the sleep meds for you?"

"How did you know…"

"Spock told me. We might not be in a relationship anymore…but we didn't stop being friends. He charged me with making sure you slept and did all those other lovely necessities in the event of his or McCoy's absence."

"He gave me a babysitter?"

"You sure as hell need it, Kirk, you definitely smell of a couple nights without a shower, and you look it too. I haven't seen hair so greasy…"

"What?" Jim's hand flew up, pressing into his hair, glaring at her when he found it as dry as usual.

"So you haven't been showering."

"This is an awkward conversation, can we just pretend it never happened and let me go?"

"No. Only if you promise that you'll start taking care of yourself now. Otherwise I will do what Spock asked me to, and I will not let you out of my sight."

"Consider myself warned."

"I will. I'll get your sleeping pills, you go shower and get ready for bed, alright, Kirk?"

"Yes, mom."

"You sure as hell need one, if this is how you take care of yourself," Nyota stated, her hand placed on her hip.

Kirk laughed and nodded, and with a last glance at the planet they were orbiting, left. Nyota stared after him for a moment and slowly let out a sigh.

This was going to be a tougher job than she had originally anticipated.


	4. Especially

"NO! YOU CAN'T TAKE HIM, YOU DON'T UNDERSTAND, IT COULD KILL HIM! TAKE ME AGAIN, PLEASE!" McCoy's voice rang through the empty space, the echoes ringing long after the words ended; he was on his knees, watching through worry and horror filled eyes as the half-Vulcan was taken away. Spock was bleary-eyed, stumbling, still partially frozen, and still weak, barely aware of his surroundings.

"I can no longer produce the enzyme we need through your blood, your body has taken too much of the virus in. It will need time to filter out of your system."

"Then wait, please! What more'll a day or two's wait matter?"

"It will lead to more death and suffering. More of our people will die. We cannot afford the wait. We have been waiting for years."

"Please, if you'd just explain what exactly is causin' all this, I'm a Doctor, I could help! Please! Don't take him, I beg you!"

"You would not be able to handle the equipment, our laws forbid it, and not only your friend will die, but you as well, and the one who let them. It is impossible."

McCoy watched, tense, unmoving as Spock was taken, their eyes locking for a split second, the gaze holding tense fear and worry, and a shred of _'it will be fine' _flickering in brown depths. McCoy desperately hoped that that was true.

"Please, bring him back alright…"  
….

Spock was strapped to a table, the thought of trying to escape as far away from his mind as possible, weak, shivering.

"I apologize for the straps, but unnecessary movement will only serve to heighten the possible pain. I cannot have you struggle only to injure yourself." Me'rith spoke softly, but Spock was only listening with half an ear. There was a moment when there was silence, the alien moving around the room, selecting his tools precisely, controlling doses, and connecting tubes and wires to the Vulcan one at a time.

Spock felt the unfamiliar chemicals entering his bloodstream, and a small part of him cried his rebellion, but the cold had leached the fight from him. "You are much less rebellious than the human. I thank you for this. It makes things simpler." He brought what looked like an ancient syringe over to him, flicking it methodically, removing the air bubbles from the dark red liquid.

A small part of him was aware of hands methodically bringing a vein into sharp relief, before it was injected into his bloodstream to join the rest in a waiting cocktail of what he now knew to be disease and death. At first he felt nothing, and then his world was engulfed in pain.

Me'rith immediately set to flushing the chemical out at the first sound of pain that came from the half-Vulcans mouth. Then hesitated as the sound receded, hope flickering in his heart at the thought that they might have finally done it, but then he saw the brown eyes, and realized he was in a state of shock.

Spock's blood was ice inside of his veins, slicing through the fragile inner webbing, fire flickering in his chest with every breath he took. His world was agony, his mind crumbling. He could not breathe, he could not think, he could not control. His arms and legs were unstrapped, and he slid down, crying out in pain before he was grasped by bands of flame around his arms. "I will return you to McCoy, it will wear off soon. Hold on for both of us. You hold the key to our survival."

He was half carried half dragged back to his imprisonment, and Spock knew exactly when McCoy saw him when the loud, barked "What did you _do_?" rang through the air.

Leonard didn't know what scared him more; the sickly pallor of Spock's face or the way he nearly fell over himself. He had never been anything less than sure footed and strong when he was led back, but now, now…

Spock collapsed into his waiting arms, and he pulled him across the boundary as soon as the usual electricity hummed into life, the jolt a reminder. Spock whimpered at the feeling, and McCoy pulled him back, half dragging him towards the pile of blankets and finally placing him in them, wrapping it around him snuggly.

"Spock…can you hear me?"

"Doc…tor…" Spock hissed out through chattering teeth in acknowledgement, and McCoy paused, finally holding the bundled up Vulcan close to him, adding his own heat, resigned to waiting it out. His patient, his _friend_, he wasn't going to let him die.

"Yeah, that's me, look, I'm goin' to be here, alright? You aren't alone. You'll be fine. Trust me. Just…trust me." He continued talking, awkwardly trying to check temperature and pulse while keeping the Vulcan as warm as he could. This entire situation was as awkward as it was possible for it to be. It was reminiscent of the times when he was married. He was back at home, calming Joanna when she had a nightmare. And that thought was almost more awkward than the situation itself.

Suddenly, after what felt like hours of spouting mindless nonsense, and trying desperately to calm the tremors that shook the half-Vulcan with whatever havoc the drug was wreaking upon his system, Spock stopped. He just stopped. Stopped breathing, stopped moving, stopped trembling, and McCoy was silent, shock gripping his system.

He lowered him to the ground, meeting eyes that were still alive, and felt a heartbeat under his hand. "Don't you _dare_ shut down on me…" he hissed, and in a moment of complete and utter helpless and hopeless frustration brought his fingers down onto the Vulcan's face, his fingers clumsily searching for meld points, while the other hand was brought up to his own, and in a purely rash stubborn and almost futile desperation tried to force his consciousness into that mind, only to find himself sucked in. Once he was there, he almost wished he wasn't.

_Pain was in him, around him, piercing him, and there was a voice, a desperate voice. __**"Please, it hurts, it hurts, no more, no more…"**_

"_**Don't you dare, don't you dare, you pointy-eared devil, you can't."**_

"_**Devil, hobgoblin, demon, freak, abomination…it's always the same, what am I to you, why do you care whether I live or die?"**_

"_**Why do I…why do I care? Spock! You can't be serious! I care, Jim cares, and I might call you names, but dammit, I've never meant it, Spock! Well…I might have meant it at some point, but I don't mean it now. I…dammit hobgoblin, you're my friend. I care about you, I don't want you to die, and if you give up on me now… Breathe."**_

"_**It hurts, doctor, it hurts, it hurts it hurts ithurtsithurtsithurts…"**_

"_**I know, I know! But you can't just give up, please, you can't give up! Think about Jim, you don't really want to leave him alone, he'll die without your presence there, and you know it. You can't leave him alone… **_You can't leave me alone_…__**"**__ The last thought was a whisper, barely noticeable, bleeding into the mental scape of blackness and death that surrounded him. __**"I swear to you, I will follow you down, you die, you take me with you, goblin. You die, you take me with you. So breathe."**_

"_**I…"**_

"_**Please. You can't leave me here!"**_

"_**I'll…I'll try." **_

_McCoy was aware of the blackness fading on a subliminal level, the increase of air to the lungs, the increase of blood flow, the slow return to normal levels. He slowly found a way to back out, the pain still there, but separated as much as he was able. He took a breath, and slowly fell out of the meld. _

Fingers slipped from faces, heads slumped to floor and chest, each falling into their own reflective state. One shaky with the feeling of being in another's mind, one wrecked with pain that he could not control.

Each breathed in, breathed out. Lungs inflating and deflating, hearts beating at strange rhythms, minds whirring in opposite directions, but both living, both still fighting.

Both still captives to something bigger than they were. Unsure what it even was, where it came from. Yet they were being tested, tortured through it, by it, in some desperate attempt to save the people it was ravaging.

_Did that make it worth it?  
_…..

Jim stared at the food on his plate with eyes that were almost sightless. But the rest of him was attuned to the gaze that was leveled at his head. Two piercing brown eyes that saw more than he wanted them to bored into his head. He tried to ignore them, focusing more on the fork that he was using to stab viciously at the steak on his plate. He knew that Uhura wondered why he wouldn't eat.

He honestly wasn't that sure himself. It was his favorite food, he had a bit of the green stuff off to the side to appease the Doctor, and the Vulcan wasn't there… Who was he kidding? That was reason enough right there. They weren't there, no Spock to comment on his choices, no McCoy to even pretend to eat his veggies for… He was reminded of that with each vicious stab, each second that ticked by when Uhura said nothing.

He wanted her to say something. He needed for her to say something, yet she remained silent.

Finally he sighed, and the fork plopped down by his plate, leaning back in his seat.

"Jim, you have to eat something."

_Finally, she says something._

"I don't feel like it."

"Stop acting like a child. You're a man, so man up, we'll get them back." Uhura snapped. She had been staring at him stab at his food viciously for five minutes. She was through.

Jim jolted, the chair that he had been leaning back on two legs falling back onto four. He stared at her with wide eyes, and then burst out laughing, "Did you just tell me to suck it up and grow a pair?"

"You better believe I did, now stop it. Eat. I get that you're upset, but we'll get them back. Starfleet hasn't ordered us back yet. We have time. We'll get them. You know we will. Don't torment yourself about it."

"It's been days. Hell, it's almost been a week. Anything could be happening in that time, they…"

"No. Shut up. You're the one who's constantly saying 'I don't believe in no-win scenarios', so suck it up, deal with it, and say it. Come on, who are you?"

"James T. Kirk." The Captain was grinning at her slightly, eyes twinkling as she leaned forward, her finger jabbing his chest.

"Alright then, Kirk, are you going to sit there moping because you haven't had much luck finding them yet?"

"Yes."

"NO!" She jabbed him harder, and Jim winced, his mouth still pulled into a snickering grin. "You are not, you are going to get right back to it, you are not going to give up, and you are going to save them. Do you hear me, Kirk?"

"I hear ya."

"Good. So, go do it."

"Can I finish eating first?"

"Yes. So long as you eat, you idiot."

"You like me and you know it."

Nyota laughed, and then sighed. "If you want I can take over the worrying for you."

"Nope, I'm good. You start worrying and I might have to throw out my own pep talk. I have to ask you though, where you in cheerleading or something, because that was…"

"Head cheerleader, high school."

"Straight A student as well?"

"Naturally."

"Aren't you just Little Miss Perfect?"

"You better believe it, Kirk."

"Well, alright then, Little Miss Perfect, can you go to the replicators and get your starving Captain another steak with veggies? This one's gone cold."

Uhura stared at him, watching the grin stretch across his face, mixed with pleading blue eyes and a look of such innocence that she could only sigh through her nose, stand up, grab the plate, and leave. "Big baby."

"Thank you, Uhura."

"No problem, Captain."

When she was gone he dropped his face into his hands, rubbing at his temples and slowly breathing through his nose. No matter what he said to her, he still couldn't forget that his _family_ was in danger. His surrogate brothers, suffering, dying, possibly dead…and he was unable to help them. But Uhura was right. He needed to suck it up, he could do this. His crew was worried, and watching their captain flounder in that same worry would only make it worse. So? He'd hide it. He'd been doing that for about as long as he could remember.

With that thought the mask slipped into place, right as Uhura plopped his food down in front of him. He was able to look up at her with a smile and a nod, and she was able to give him an answering one.

"That's better. Now, eat up."

"Aye, aye, Captain," Jim's sarcastic response rang out, and with that, he fell wholeheartedly into the image he needed to present.

He hoped he could keep it up.


	5. When

_Well...this is possibly one of the longest waits, for one of the shortest chapters. I apologize profusely for this, but what you need to understand is there are two chapters left, and I need to get all that I wish to get into the chapters I wish to get them in. My...that was...confusing. I do hope you enjoy what I have, I hope that it's worth it anyway. Enjoy people, and please review._  
...

Spock was curled up on the floor, blankets wrapped around him, and McCoy basically spooning around him. Once again, an extremely awkward position for both of them, but one that was necessary, oh so very necessary. The only problem McCoy had with it was the fact that his back was cold. Horribly cold. But he could live. He had to.

A small part of him was shocked at how damn thin the hobgoblin was, but this merely gave the doctor something else to poke at, namely how much did he attempt to feed him when they got back. He knew that he was already thin before, so this was ridiculous; it was like cuddling up to a skeleton. No wonder the cold was affecting him so strongly. He had basically lost his only form of insulation.

Constant swearing grumbling thoughts tumbled into each other and spilled into a pool of fear and worry in his stomach. It filled him up more than food ever could, yet he found that he wished for it to go away. He was afraid, and he didn't like it, at all. He found himself considering methods of escape more and more these days. But then his thoughts slid to their captors. The supposed 'reason' for their abuse.

Disease, death, and their supposed immunity to it.

He did not trust it; he did not want to believe it. Spock was obviously reacting to the disease, and he suspected that he was not as immune to it as a full-fledged human would be. They needed to get out.

But if they did…if they did manage to leave, what about these aliens? What would happen to them? There was a vicious and small part of him that clamored for them to leave, that screamed that they needed to live too. But there was something else, a question of if their lives mattered more than an entire species.

Those two sides were warring with each other, digging and picking, trying to find a chink in the other's argument. But as it was himself he was arguing with, he found that he was losing the point, and slowly winding into half grumbled 'it's not fair' reasons. Neither thing was helpful, neither thing was useful, and he was getting tired of it. A soft groan made him look up, and he let go of the bundled-up Vulcan he had been curled around and gently helped him to sit up a bit.

"Hey...I need you to drink this for me, alright?" Spock allowed McCoy to hold the bowl of water up to his lips, draining it with a grimace. "I know it's cold; thanks for bein' so calm about it..."

"There is no logic in avoiding what needs to be done," Spock said softly, throat no longer aching.

"You feeling any better?"

"I am not as certain that my bones are made of ice."

"That's a rather illogical thought..."

"Nevertheless, that is what it felt like."

McCoy hissed through his teeth at the thought, and examined the Vulcan. "You are feelin' better, then?"

"I am as well as can be expected."

They were silent for a time, McCoy curling up slightly before turning to meet eyes with Spock, fingers tightening into fists. "We can't keep lettin' them do this." Spock didn't reply, looking at anything but the doctor. "Spock. We can't let them keep this up. We'll die if they do."

"Yet they will die if we do not."

"Dammit, that's not true; they're actin' like scientists about to hit a breakthrough, totally oblivious to anythin' aside from continuing their experiments and fixin' their work. They're not interested in our lives, and they don't seem to be gettin' there any time soon. I don't care what that bastard says, it's not true. Dammit, Spock, we have to get out of here."

Spock stared at the floor, and then looked up at him. "How do you propose we do so? We are unable to leave this area, and I am unsure how or when we will be released from that safeguard."

"'Safeguard'."

"It is a safeguard, Leonard. It is a way to prevent us from leaving before we are through. It is not safe for us, and if we were to leave it would cause extreme pain or even death. But nonetheless, that is what it is."

McCoy had only noticed one thing. "You said my name."

Spock paused, blinking. "So it would seem."

McCoy grinned, "I didn't think you had it in you. What brought you to it?"

"There is little reason not to. You have, after all, been practically 'cuddling' with me for the past three nights."

McCoy paused, blinked, and then finally burst out laughing. "Well, it's not exactly been my favorite thing to do. You certainly aren't my choice of bed partner, but hell, I'm a doctor; if my patients are about to freeze their asses off or some such thing, I'll do what needs to be done. Physical discomfort or not."

"And if your patients are slowly dying due to a disease that they are unable to survive?"

McCoy fell silent. "You are definitely not one of my favorite people right now..."

Spock blinked, looking at him. "I was unaware that I was ever among your 'favorite people'."

"Sure you were. Favorite person to talk to when I want to get royally pissed off." McCoy waved the comment off, glancing at him sarcastically when Spock raised an eyebrow.

"Ah. I had wondered why you constantly talked to me when it is quite obvious that you cannot stand me."

"Spock...think about that for a moment...I've spent this entire time-"

"Leonard, that was before. I am quite aware that either your opinion of me has changed, or you have never thought such a thing to begin with. If it is the former, I am admittedly grateful that it has; if it is due to the latter, I apologize for seeing what was never there to begin with."

"..." McCoy was silent for a moment, blinking. "It's changed, that's all I'm sayin' about it. There is absolutely no reason to keep discussin' it, and I refuse to beat it to death. So, let's leave it as I was an idiot, and I'm sorry."

"That is acceptable."

"Good, because this mushy crap is beginning to eat my brain."

"...I do not understand humans and their fascination with fecal matter; every other expletive that leaves your mouth is related to it, and yet humans find it disgusting. Why do you consistently use it in conversation?"

McCoy was silent, staring at the half-Vulcan in shock, before finally, slowly beginning to laugh, finally grinning at him and shrugging. "Just illogical like that, I guess."

"Indeed."

Silence prevailed then, broken by shifting and the soft sound of shivering and chattering teeth. McCoy gritted his and curled up slightly, eyes closed, face pained. There was nothing he could really do; it killed him, it killed him, but he was slowly forcing his mind away from the thought, trying to separate himself from it as much as possible. He needed to, otherwise it would destroy him.

There were very few things that he couldn't handle, and, unfortunately for him, being unable to help his friends was one of them. He glared at the wall, trying to ignore, yet again, the half-Vulcan in his slow increase of agony.

"It is strange- compared to the ice my bones were turned into before, this is not as cold as it was before."

"Don't tell me that. Don't tell me that. Hypothermia..." he whispered and, snarling quietly, finally stood up and began pacing, eyes focused on anything but Spock. Spock was definitely on his last legs; he needed to get out.

They needed to get out.

...

Jim was heading the search again. He had rested, he had eaten, and they finally decided that he was allowed onto the planet.

They once again searched and searched, eyes and ears focused for any hint of them, replacing the ones that had been down there searching and searching again with others. Fresh and awake eyes versus the teetering-on-the-edge-of-consciousness ones that most of them were falling into. Spock and McCoy hadn't been seen in days; it was almost enough to drive them to ruin. But they were learning to hold the same belief system their captain had.

They would find them; there was no other option. Alive, or...they didn't even want to consider that other option.

Jim was currently stomping through the truly paradise-like surroundings, uncaring of any plants that he trampled in his basic fury over still not finding them. It was driving him crazy, it was tearing him apart, and it was killing him slowly.

He needed something to hold onto, some hope that they could be found, some...sign that they were still out there. He could beat against there being no-win scenarios until he turned blue in the face and fell on his ass, but he knew that this might actually be the one moment when he found himself unable. If that was the case, Jim was never going to forgive Spock for being right.

Although he'd be dead, and therefore unable to be forgiven or otherwise anyway… The thought didn't make him any more likely to relax and quit destroying the plant life around him. He needed to find them. He needed to, and when he found out who had captured them he was kicking their ass. No explanation, no reason- they were going to die. They couldn't capture his crew and expect for him to take it lying down. They were done. He was through.

Just as soon as he found them.

The thought was worrying. His mind was twisting through dislike and worry with each step he took, grumbling softly as he went. A hand clasped his shoulder and he reacted automatically, gripping that arm, and proceeding to flip the attached offender to the ground. A red-shirted Scotty landed with an "oomph!" and a thud.

Jim immediately helped him up, apologizing with every other word, the Scotsman attempting to wave it off. "Well, I see sneakin' up on ye was not a good idea..."

"I am sorry, Scotty..."

"Not to worry, Capt'in. I've taken worse hits than tha'." Scotty waved it off, grinning at him slightly. "Sorry for tha'; you havin' much luck?"

"No. Not really. Everything looks the same, and there's no sign of them anyway. I don't know what to do, Scotty. We've looked for days, but we don't have any leads, and...they could be anywhere."

"That they could..."

"But I'm going to find them. I have to."

"We believe you are certainly gonna find 'em. They'll be fine, Capt'in... We'll get 'em."

"I hope so, Scotty...I really do."


	6. It's

Spock awoke to the almost familiar feeling of his bones being encased in ice and his veins filled with ice chips. He knew it was not the case, that it was illogical to consider it to be so, but somewhere between the lack of meditation, the lack of food, and the lack of warmth, he had ceased to care. But there was one thing that he did care about.

McCoy was not there.

Spock sat up immediately, the blankets pulled up with him as he stood stiffly in the empty and bright room. His ears were attuned to any shifting movements aside from his own echoing ones coming from the hallway, any sign of where Leonard could be. His eyes flickered from point to point and he slowly began trying to gain control of the nerve impulses that screamed their pain and cold at him. There were so many, and he was unsure if he could manage them all as they screamed at him and demanded his attention.

But he had not been meditating. He was not centered, he had no control.

He closed his eyes, trying to focus, only to hear a sound that made his eyes fly open, a groan and a cough followed by a moan. His eyes locked onto the doorway, focused on it, his eyes widening at the sight of McCoy being physically carried into the room, the pale alien holding onto him tightly and awkwardly. Spock straightened, hands falling limp, the blankets pooling around him, his mind fogging slightly, his eyes locked on that human.

Leonard was pale; his mouth was lolling open, the cavern pooling with red liquid, his eyes unfocused and drifting. Finally, the hazel eyes locked onto his brown, and Spock stiffened at the look in them. Pain, fear, _betrayal_ reached out at him and gripped him by the throat. McCoy was placed onto the ground, and Spock looked down at him, meeting those eyes the entire time, unable to blink, unable to _think_.

"Green…blooded…hobgoblin…"

Three little words and something inside Spock _snapped_.

Black eyes flew up to meet their captor's, teeth grit and mouth pulled into a snarl. "We trusted you."

"I…"

"You betrayed us." He took slow step after step forward, eyes glinting darkly, the alien backing away at the feral look in his eyes. Spock stepped over the line, the immediate jolt making him take a step back, his eyes focusing on it for a moment, only to flicker back up to him. Me'rith backed away slowly, fear and worry in each movement.

"It will wear off."

"He will be dead. There will be no 'wearing off'."

"You can't cross that line."

Spock's eyes reflected nothing more than absolute loathing. "I believe the phrase is 'watch me'." With those final words, he brought his arm up, bending it slightly, and forced the inner part of his elbow with the chip in it to his mouth. A second later his teeth dug in savagely and he tore it out, flesh and all, green blood trickling from his mouth to his arm to the floor to pool on the ground. Me'rith took a single look at the Vulcan as he took a step over the barrier, green-stained teeth bared, arm torn open and bleeding down his forearm to drip from his fingers, and ran.

Spock gave a growl before turning back, hurriedly picking McCoy up and digging at that elbow with his fingers tore the chip out. Leonard let out a shout, but was pulled up to Spock, held close and shushed. McCoy automatically fell silent, the savage glint in Spock's eyes and the blood trickling down from his chin adding to the overall feeling of terror.

The Vulcan was out of control, and he didn't want to see it. He pressed his head against Spock's shoulder, too weak to manage anything else, half out of his mind with pain and fear and just giggled at the red liquid dripping, a small part of his brain screaming how bad that was. Suddenly with a lurch, Spock began running, taking them out of the prison, out of the room they had been in for days or weeks or months, unsure of the time, not caring either way.

Jim would be waiting for them, Jim would be waiting.

The sound of running footsteps and echoing voices came down the corridor in front of him, so Spock ran down the other, a long white corridor that seemed to have no end, the light steadily being spaced out until there was one light source every fifty feet. Spock slowed down at the realization, curled defensively around the doctor, eyes flickering in the darkness, Vulcan eyes able to see better in the dark.

His ears were attuned for more than McCoy's gurgling breaths and quiet giggles, their heartbeats coming to him as he focused, the pain having long since been pushed into a corner of his mind and locked behind mental barriers and the stronger feeling of panic and hatred. He needed to get Leonard out.

There was the sound of heavy echoing footsteps, and he turned around, eyes peering into the darkness behind him, widening at the sight of large luminous purple and blue eyes much higher than they should be. He backed up slowly, and that was when an echoing shriek cut the silence, making McCoy jolt and cease his crazed giggles, and Spock to turn and run.

Spock ran, his eyes locked onto the light ahead of him. Everything in him screamed of desperation, but it also screamed of weariness. That part of him was squashed, destroyed and locked away, hidden behind the need and the drive to get out as fast as he could, to save Leonard, to save himself. That thing's skittering footsteps behind him came faster and faster, staccato rhythm pounding on the ground.

He kept moving, unwilling to stop, his hold on McCoy tightening slightly as he attempted to make himself a smaller target should they wish to attack from behind. The light was getting closer, as was the thing behind him.

Twenty steps turned to fifteen, fifteen turned to ten, and something snatched Spock's legs, and pulled. The half-Vulcan tossed the doctor into the light, some part of him, some reflex saying that the light equaled safety. Leonard landed with a thud, pain rocketing up his spine and shooting down his limbs. The sudden shock was enough to snap him out of his pain and shock induced hysteria.

He pushed himself up, spitting the bloody metallic tang out of his mouth, turning around to be met with a sight that froze him where he lay.

Spock was in the middle of a frenzied out-of-control battle with something that was too tall, too spindly, and had too many legs. The half-Vulcan was doing whatever he could to escape, biting, tearing, writhing in a multi-legged battle with a giant black insectoid thing that he could only see in glimpses.

Whatever small part of McCoy had been indifferent to spiders transformed steadily and surely into a dreading fear. He crawled backwards, the shrieks that the thing was making causing his heart to thud in his chest. He was terrified.

Suddenly Spock managed to grip onto one of its many legs near the base, and the creature collapsed. He went down with it, rolling into the light and lying there unmoving. McCoy hurriedly scooted forward, looking at the thing and then down at Spock. He met a pair of brown glazed eyes automatically and nearly flinched at the crazed look that still haunted their depths. This time when Spock stood up he was ready for the assessing look and the help to his feet as he was once again pulled into the dark. He knew when to follow, when fighting against the overwhelming personalities and moods of his friends would be suicide.

He figured he was lucky Spock was trying to kill them and not him.

The hand around his arm was like a vice, but somehow managed to be gentle enough that it wouldn't leave a bruise. Some part of Spock was still in there, and that part was very wary about causing any unnecessary damage. As he fell into a coughing fit and was unable to keep running and Spock picked him up again, he was pretty certain that he was going to wind up killing himself before Spock or those things had a chance.

They turned down tunnel after tunnel, McCoy completely unaware of where they were going or how they were getting there, content to let himself be carried. After their encounter with the spider things the first time, Spock had become masterful almost in the way he avoided them. McCoy just wished he had an idea of where they were going.

He didn't know what Spock was running towards, but he began willing him to go faster, fingers tightening in the black thin cloth that covered the body of his friend. He could only be thankful that an emaciated half-drained/dead Vulcan was still strong enough to carry a full grown man without trouble.

They saw it. Light, glorious light, the bright yellow light of the sun and not the stark white light that they had been in for weeks, months? No time to contemplate, just run.

Suddenly, they were in it.

McCoy looked over Spock's shoulder, and shouted, Spock turning around automatically.

They stared into the face of their captor and watched in terror as the pale skinned alien stared at them. Spock let McCoy stand, placing him to the ground, body tense and ready for action if the thing so much as looked at them funny.

"We are sorry." The voice was quiet, and McCoy felt hatred and anger bubble up and he straightened.

His mouth opened and then his eyes widened, watching as the thing's mouth opened and black slimy, spindly spiderlike legs began forcing their way out of the mouth into the air, waving. Slowly but surely the entire thing was turned inside out before their eyes, black dripping and terrifying. Spock and McCoy stared in shock, only to nearly miss the projectile that was launched at them.

McCoy had a moment to shout, only to be pushed out of the way roughly. He met the ground face first, but he could hear the sickening sound of something being gored. He rolled over, and met eyes with Spock, blood gushing from his chest, his pale hands pressed to it tightly, green contrasting with white as he fell to his knees, eyes fixed on the spider thing as it scuttled away, back into the gloom, taking some of Spock's blood with it.

A gurgle left the half-Vulcan's mouth, and McCoy was on his feet, running to him. McCoy managed to get Spock onto the ground, cradling his head in his lap, hands trying to prevent as much blood-loss as he could.

He could only stare into those brown glazed over eyes and feel himself curl into a ball in his own mind. "Spock…"

"Do not grieve…Doctor… It was…worth it." Green, green everywhere, from his mouth, from his nose, from his arm, down his hands, pooling in the grass. He hated green, he hated it. He wanted it to go away, back where it belonged, for that face to gain its green tinge, to lose the pasty white it was.

"No, no, don't you dare, don't you dare, we got so far, you can't give up now, we're almost home, we're almost there… Please, you can't give up on me now, not yet."

"I…I will try, but you must…promise me. If…if this is…"

"I won't grieve, I won't grieve, I promise. I'll…I'll take care of Jim, I'll make sure they can cope. But please, I beg of you…don't give up. Don't…"

"Leonard, I will never cease to try…no matter how far gone I may be…"

McCoy heard it then, voices screaming their names, but they were going the wrong way. McCoy hesitated, looking at Spock, before looking in the direction they were coming from and back at Spock.

"Don't let go, Spock…"

"I…_promise_."

With those two words, McCoy hurriedly stood up, and screamed, shouted, yelled, running after the voices, listening to the sounds of their reactions, the joyful shouts of his name, the realization of who it was, the sound of home, of _family_. They ran up to him, voices of joy and happiness fading slightly at seeing the state of him, but they turned worried when they saw the green that covered him as well. They followed him as he ran, back to Spock, back to the half-Vulcan who gave so much of himself.

Back to the one who was slowly dying.

McCoy locked eyes on the closed lids, the apparent lack of breath, and fell to his knees. Their voices were white noise around him, hands gripping him under the arms, and then the tingle of the transporter came, and McCoy nearly cried.

They were going home.

The rest of the time was spent in a flurry of activity, McCoy barely aware that he was shouting at his nurses when they entered sickbay, screaming at them to keep the hobgoblin alive. He felt his heart nearly stop at the sight of his captain and friend staring at the two of them as they were brought in, the blue eyes haunted, crippled with sadness and pain, and his hazel eyes remained locked on him, even as blackness took over, and he knew no more.

_They were safe._


	7. Voluntary

_Here it is, ladies and gents. End of the run, no more to go. Hope you enjoyed it, and...once you get to a certain point in this chapter (you'll know it when you see it) understand that I really couldn't help myself... Enjoy anyway._  
...

McCoy glared at the biobed in front of him silently. Jim had just left after visiting him for the first time since they had been retrieved. The meeting had been joyous, yet hampered by the silent and pale figure lying on the biobed. Shadows pockmarked the figure's face; the outline in the bed was thin, nearly skeletal. He was underfed himself, but whereas McCoy had been a healthy weight, Spock had always been underweight.

But the most important thing was the blanket itself was a thermal one, combating the effects of the very start of hypothermia; the cover hid heavy bandages and wires, and Spock still was unmoving.

It was all McCoy could do not to scream in frustration. So close. They were so close, and Spock was slipping away.

His mind was running through 'could have's and 'should have's like lightning, possibilities dancing across his vision. The planet had already been classified as dangerous and the ship was already long gone. He could just begin to see the end of this miserable journey; he just wished that Spock was awake to see it with him. He'd seen the start, now he needed to see the end.

But the hobgoblin was refusing to wake up. They had contacted Sarek with the news that his son was still alive; the relief in those eyes was something that McCoy had clung to. Now Spock just needed to open his eyes, and they could move on completely.

He sighed, rubbing at his temples, his eyes closed and his mouth set. "Dammit, goblin…why do you have to make things so difficult?"

"Talking at the air again, Doctor?" McCoy nearly jumped, turning his head a little quicker than normal to face the one who had spoken, a small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth at the slight one on his head nurse's face.

"More like talkin' to someone who can't hear me…" McCoy answered easily, shrugging slightly.

"Doctor…he'll be fine. Really, we just need to give him time."

"You put a lot of faith in that..."

"Not in that, in him; trust me, he'll come around. He's done so every other time; this one won't be any different."  
…

As McCoy sat in front of a weak, but mostly whole half-Vulcan he couldn't help but reflect to himself that Chapel had been right. The two of them were in the mess hall sitting across from each other, crewmembers all around them, and a large selection of vegetarian foodstuffs were in between them. The crewmembers had come because it was one of the only times that Spock had been seen out of the sickbay; the two of them were there to help support crew morale, and the food was there due to the doctor attempting to help get Spock back to the proper weight.

Spock had finally been able to eat the proper and healthy amount, and now McCoy was attempting to push the boundaries of that a little and see if he could get him to be able to eat just a bit more. Spock was, naturally, protesting slightly, but at the sight of McCoy's glare he gave it up.

The crew had been slightly amused as Spock diligently went through each bowl and plate that was in front of him methodically. Then he stopped. McCoy immediately narrowed his eyes, looking at the last bite that was in front of him, and back up at Spock with a raised eyebrow.

"Well…are you gonna eat that?"

"Negative. I have, in fact, reached full capacity; any attempt to add more and my body will attempt to expel it."

McCoy snorted. "Don't be ridiculous. It's just two bites; what more can two bites possibly do?"

"Doctor, please, I do not believe that I can hold any more."

"Look, Spock, who's the doctor here, me or you?"

"You are…" His voice was resigned and McCoy nodded.

"Exactly. It will be fine; in fact, I'll make a deal with you- one more bite and I'll let you go."

Spock paused, hesitated, looked from him to the bowl, and finally back up at him, an eyebrow slowly rising. "If you insist…" With that he slowly reached out, stabbed the tomato calmly, and proceeded to chew.

"There, see? No problems there." McCoy grinned as Spock finally swallowed and regarded him with a raised eyebrow. The crew who had been close enough to hear the conversation also smiled, and then they hesitated. Spock had turned a shade of yellow that did not look all that healthy; the next second he had launched himself out of his chair and across the mess hall to the recyclers, where he proceeded to vomit spectacularly into the open hatch.

The entire hall was silent, staring at the hunched-over figure that hadn't made a move to straighten, shock, sympathy and general confusion the feeling on everyone's mind.

McCoy's grin fell. He frowned and looked down at the salad. "Must have been a bad tomato." The sudden loud and carrying comment made everyone burst out laughing, and Spock to straighten back up, tugging at his shirt and returning to his place in front of McCoy.

"I did warn you, Doctor."

"So you did. I'm sorry, Spock; next time I promise I'll listen to you."

"You and I both know that this is a highly unlikely prospect."

McCoy couldn't help but give him a small smile. "True, but I'm workin' on it. We'll get there in the end, I promise."

"Very well, Doctor. I shall attempt to do the same."

The two of them began clearing away the dishes, McCoy warning Spock to eat in his quarters at the earliest point he could, the half-Vulcan agreeing. They continued walking down the hallway together, chatting quietly about whatever (although Spock would deny anything of the sort), when McCoy suddenly stopped in the middle of the hallway, making a harried-looking ensign hurriedly stop in order to avoid running into him. Spock pulled him off to the side and raised an eyebrow at him.

"I just realized… We've been holdin' a proper conversation without argument or anythin' for an entire day almost."

"Yes?"

"What do we tell Jim?"

Spock was silent, and then looked back up. "Strictly speaking, Leonard, there is no reason to tell him."

McCoy's face pulled into a grin, and he clapped him on the shoulder. "Spock, I like your thinkin'."

"I believe it would be best for you to remove your hand from my person."

"Oh, I'm sorry; I just thought…"

"No, from time to time I shall allow such a thing, but Jim is coming."

Kirk's face was pulled into a smile at the sight of his First Officer up and about, although McCoy seemed to be helping him upright.

"Dammit, you pointy-eared goblin, didn't I tell you not to overdo it?"

"My apologies, Doctor; I assure you that this is the first time that it has happened."

"Ha! Knowin' you, you've been close to keelin' over all day!"

As Spock opened his mouth to reply, Jim stepped in. "Hey, you two, play nice, alright? Spock, if you are having trouble standing up, maybe the doctor's right. Really, you two, didn't a couple of weeks in captivity teach you how to get along better?"

The two of them paused, looked at each other, and then back to Jim. "Are you kidding? There's absolutely no way!"

"Indeed."

With that, Jim began to laugh, and the world was complete again, if not a little fuller than it had been before.


End file.
